


Perfect

by Lyssita_Lennon



Category: Barbie - All Media Types, Barbie in Rock'N Royals
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-30 02:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5146136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyssita_Lennon/pseuds/Lyssita_Lennon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After leaving Russia and starting Camp Arabesque, Svetlana Petranova learns there's more to life than perfection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfect

It was never supposed to happen this way. Svetlana swore she would never let her heart be taken by a man again. Yet here she was, lying bare on her bed with the sniveling assistant from Camp Royalty sleeping soundly beside her. She sat up slowly. His face looked peaceful as he slept. Clive was nothing like Gregor, she thought.

Gregor Volkov was a man of many talents. He was tall and lean, easily able to carry twice his own weight making him the most sought after dance partner at the academy. His dark eyes and hair gave him an air of power and mystery that made all the ballerina’s tremble with fear and desire. Svetlana was no different. For months she practiced until her slippers were worn through and her ankles swollen for just a chance to dance the lead with him once. Her efforts were not wasted. She danced as Clara in _The Nutcracker_ , asserting her place as prima ballerina at only eighteen. And with Gregor as the premier danseur, the two were nearly inseparable.

It started with a lingering touch. He held her for much longer than the routine required. His hand supported her leg en pointe higher up her thigh than it should have been. She said nothing. She hoped for more. He kissed her a week later and she felt like she was soaring. Within the next several months she had given herself completely over to his passions. Life couldn’t have been sweeter.

That however, did not last long. As prima ballerina she was expected to be perfect. It came as quite the shock when she missed a step rehearsing for _Giselle_ and received a hard slap. 

_“You dare call that shit dancing?” He spat. “A prima ballerina is perfect, Svetlana. She cannot afford to make mistakes. Do you wish to return to the company? To go back to being nothing?”_

_She tasted blood in her cheek._

_“Don’t look at me like that. You know I only want the best for you.” He cooed. “I care about you, Svetlana.”_

His temper was like that of a hurricane and no amount of sugar-coated words could make up for that. After nearly a year, she’d had enough.

_They were in the practice studio. Again. They had been for hours._

_“You’re doing it wrong, Svetlana.”_

_They had been working on that particular dance for over an hour. She was tired. Her feet ached. Of course things were wrong._

_“Why not stop for today?” She suggested. “It’s getting late.”_

_He shook his head. “No. We practice until you get it right.”_

_“No.”_

_“What did you say?”_

_“No.”_

_“One more chance.” His voice was low. “What did you say?”_

_“No, Gregor. I’m do-”_

_He shoved her back into the mirror with so much force it shattered. Hot liquid rolled down the back of her neck, staining her leotard, making her head spin._

_“Dammit Svetlana! This has to be perfect!” He shouted. She stared blankly at the ground. “Are you even listening to me?” His hands were on either side of her face. “Say something!”_

_Fragments of the broken mirror shimmered on the floor. Slowly she grabbed the largest of the shards. She met Gregor’s dark eyes._

_“Well Svetlana, are you go- ГРЯЗНЫЕ ШЛЮХА!” She stabbed the shard into his arm. He staggered back. “Y-You will n-never dance a-at this academy a-again!”_

_“Good, because I quit!” She kicked him away from her and stormed from the studio._

She had bought her plane ticket from Russia that night and hadn’t looked back since then. The money she had earned as prima ballerina went into what she was now proud to call Camp Arabesque. For five years she was content to run her camp without outside influences. 

At least until he showed up, that sniveling assistant from the nearby Camp Royalty. With flowery words and expensive gifts, he asked her to cheat for his camp. She willingly obliged. Cheating was something she was familiar with, thanks to Gregor. In the end, however; they were caught, mainly because he couldn’t keep his big mouth shut, and she fled the competition. No charges came and she felt relieved. He showed up at her office again several days later with an apology and as part of that an invitation to dinner. She was hesitant to agree.

Dinner had went well enough. Clive was the perfect gentleman, something she attributed to his job at Camp Royalty. Both of them had probably drunk a little too much wine for their own good. His loose-lipped affectionate speech for his boss reminded her of how she felt when she was with Gregor. They stumbled from the restaurant and back to her penthouse, giggling like idiots the entire way. Maybe it was the wine, or too many lonely nights, or a combination of both that made her do it. She grabbed his red necktie and pulled his mouth down on hers in a sloppy, befuddled kiss. His response was almost immediate. Soon enough she was pushing him down on her bed, clothes strewn haphazardly across the floor from the front door to the foot of the bed. His hands clung desperately to her hips as she moved on top of him. The sex hadn’t been very long, but it was just enough. She collapsed onto the bed pleasantly satisfied and did not wake the next morning until well after noon. Clive had apologized to her that day, and the next over coffee, and had sent flowers to her office. She found his concern for what they had done oddly sweet and promised not to drink as much if they ever went out to dinner again. Much to her surprise, he agreed.

Clive was sweet. It surprised her how well they got along when they were both sober. They were often together after that. Whether it was a walk around the lake, dinner at his place (he was actually a rather amazing cook,) or just sipping coffee in her office as she looked over paperwork, they were nearly inseparable.

Then one night everything changed.

It was about three months after the night of their drunken hookup. A few of the girls from Camp Arabesque were dancing in the local theatre’s production of _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_. Naturally, she wished to see her girls’ progress. And of course Clive went along with her. 

_They were walking back to her place after the show. He had been unusually quiet the entire night and she tried not to let it bother her._

_“Are you sure you actually liked it?” She asked him. “Because it’s okay if you didn’t.”_

_“What? No, it was good.” He said._

_“Is everything all right then? You’ve been quiet.”_

_“Hmm? Yeah. I’ve just been thinking.”_

_She turned her back to him to unlock the building door. “About what?”_

_“This.” He grabbed her shoulders and spun her around, pressing his lips against hers. Her eyes widened; she hadn’t been expecting that. But still, his mouth was warm and inviting. She automatically leaned into his kiss, her arms snaked their way around his neck. He made an elated sound. In an attempt to bring them closer, he gently nudged her backwards. She felt her back press into the door._

_Memories of another life danced in front of her eyes. Russia. The academy. The dance studio where she used to practice. The mirror broken and bloodied. Gregor glaring at her with hate filled eyes. His hands on her skin. His mouth moving roughly against hers._

_She shoved Clive away. He stared at her confused and hurt as she slammed the building door in his face and dashed madly up the stairs. She locked the door to her penthouse apartment and threw her phone across the room so she wouldn’t have to answer his call. Never again, she had sworn. Never again would she let a man toy with her heart. She felt nothing for Clive. His kiss meant nothing._

_Then why, she wondered, did this hurt so much?_

She did not speak to him for the next three days after that. He called, sent flowers, even tried sneaking into Camp Arabesque. Security found him almost immediately and she had him banned from camp property. She tried to ignore the ache in her chest every time she chose to avoid him.

That same night he showed up outside her front door.

_“Lana, it’s me. Please talk to me.”_

_“How did you get in the building?” She asked._

_“The woman downstairs let me in.”_

_“Well, she shouldn’t have. Just go away, Clive.” She choked out. Hot tears stung her eyes._

_“No.” He said more resolutely. “Talk to me, Lana. I can’t stand this.”_

_“Why don't you go back to Lady Anne?” She spat, hoping it would make him leave._

_It was quiet for several minutes. Just when she thought he'd left, he spoke._

_“It's not like that anymore,” his voice was soft. “I thought I saw something that wasn't there. It would have never worked out anyways. She loves Finn; I don't think she ever stopped loving him. I was too caught up in my own feelings to see that. And then I met you.” He paused here. She held her breath._

_“And sure things got off to an... interesting start, but the more time I spent with you, the less I thought about her and the more I thought about you. I don't really know how or when it happened, but it just sort of did. I have feelings for you, Lana. I won't say it again if it bothers you, but please don't shut me out. Say something. Anything.”_

_Tears ran feely down her cheeks now._

_“I'll sit out here all night if I have to,” he said determined. She actually laughed at his stubbornness. That was just like him. Her heart screamed to let him in, that he was different. Her head screamed the opposite. Before she fully realized it, she was unlocking the door._

_“Lana?” Clive sprung to his feet. His brown eyes looked at her expectantly._

_“Come inside, Clive. There’s something I have to tell you.”_

_That night she told him about Russia. She told him about her time at the ballet academy and how she would practice for hours without end. She told him about the night she was selected as the prima ballerina. And she told him about Gregor._

_Clive did not interrupt her once. He did not laugh. He did not speak again until she was finished._

_“So, that’s why you pushed me away when I kissed you.”_

_“Yes.”_

_“I’m sorry. I just couldn’t wait any longer, I had to do it. I didn’t realize- I promise the next time will be different.”_

_“Next time?” She stared at him. She couldn’t believe it. “You still want me? After all that?”_

_He smiled. “Yes.”_

_“How do I know you won’t change your mind later?”_

_“You’ll just have trust me.”_

_Her heart was beating furiously now. She hadn’t felt this way in a long time. Her cheeks grew hot. “I… I think I can do that.” She wasn’t sure what made her do it, but she grabbed his collar and kissed him right there. As his mouth moved against hers, something deep inside of her knew that this time would be different._

And she was right. Clive was nothing short of a perfect gentleman. He opened doors for her and helped her with her coat and held the umbrella whenever it was raining. He never touched her without her permission, which was frustrating at times, but altogether sweet. His hands were always tender, whether he was simply holding her hand in the park or dragging fire across her skin in the wee hours of the night.

She sighed and looked back to Clive sleeping beside her. This was the first night he had spent in her bed since their drunken rendezvous so many months earlier. Surprised, she noted that night was nearly a year ago. She lay back down wondering how that much time could have passed without her noticing. The moment her head hit the pillow Clive rolled over and pulled her into his arms. She gasped quietly.

“Love you, Lana.” He murmured sleepily into her ear.

She lay still for a moment. Five years ago she thought she’d never love again. But here she was. She snuggled deeper into his embrace. Clive was nothing like Gregor. And that was perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> ГРЯЗНЫЕ ШЛЮХА means "dirty slut" in Russian.


End file.
